#Musician!Clint

[lives-in-midgard]

The Midnight Rockers

Hey guys! This is a moodboard I made of the band The Midnight Rockers.

It's the band of Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Sam Wilson and Clint Barton in my Musician AU. You can read about them in Steve's Story and when I start Bucky's Story they will also be a part of it.

Moodboard Masterlist

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes fanfiction #steve rogers fanfiction #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #clint barton #clint barton x reader #marvel #marvel x reader #marvel fanfiction #marvel musician au #musician au #moodboard #marvel moodboard

[mayexiled]

"Longing for a wish or a cure, a failsafe."

#erra band #jt cavey #jesse cash #conor hesse #alex bellew #clint tustin #metalcore #musician fanart #cure #metal music #artists on tumblr #new music #may's arts #exiled arts #April can't come soon enough huh

[danu2203]

CLINT BLACK

#CLINT BLACK #MUSICIAN #COUNTRY WESTERN

[blizzardofjj]

93 year old Clint Eastwood and 76 year old musician Leland Skylar attending a concert

[ladykailitha]

Not All That Glitters is Gold Part 1

I fully intended to put out the next part of Well Met, but I got a really bad cold and didn't get far enough into the next chapter to post it, so I'm putting out this one. It's based on this idea here. It is spoilery, so if you don't want to be spoiled, you can read it after the story is done.

I've tagged my regulars as well as those that expressed interest in the original post. If you don't want to be tagged in future parts, just DM me and I'll remove you.

Eddie IS in this just not for awhile. And Steve does have sex with other OCs, the only sex shown will be between Eddie and Steve.

Summary: Steve is an escort with Starcourt Services, who provides omegas to alphas with the money for all sorts of accommodations: arm candy at social events, rut servicing, multiples (including orgies), and sometimes, just sex. Steve is highly sought after, but after a run in with Corroded Coffin frontman Eddie Munson at a fundraiser for a US senator, his world is turned upside down.

No monsters/omegaverse AU. Rockstar Eddie/Sex Worker Steve. Mature (especially in later chapters).

****

When Steve presented as an omega at the age of sixteen his parents were thrilled. They were going to throw lavish parties of all the best alphas in the state. Well, the appropriate ones, anyway. The good ones from conservative families of wealth and breeding.

Steve wasn’t looking forward to any of it. Which is why he breathed a sigh of relief when the doctors tested his fertility they told him he was infertile.

There was a couple other tests they could have preformed but his parents weren’t having it. How dare he be infertile! How were they going to recoup the cost of having an omega for a son, if he couldn’t have been an alpha?

The doctors informed them they had three choices. To the Church where he would be celibate and never seen or heard from again. This is what his mother wanted, but the Church wouldn’t give the money they so desperately wanted.

The second option was as a nursemaid for wealthy omegas who didn’t want to breastfeed their own pups. It had no real financial security because it was dependent on the elite needing a nursemaid in the first place. As callous as the Harringtons were, they didn’t want him to starve.

The final option was Starcourt Services. An elite escort service that would buy infertile omegas to pimp out to single alphas. They had a whole range of services. Rut servicing, gang bang and multiples (including orgies), and cherry popping.

The last one was how the Harringtons would get their money. Whatever the bid price was for an alpha deflowering Steve would be how much they would get for him. Then Steve would work for Starcourt until it was paid off. Then it would be up to Steve to decide what he wanted to do after that.

Most omegas would then go into nurturing fields, like teachers, nurses, and counseling. Not all of them did though, there were some really famous omega escorts in their fifties and sixties. Not even the best paid actors and musicians got paid as much as these escorts. They were lavished with everything they could ever want. Clothes, jewelry, trips to anywhere in the world. You name it, they got it. And they were paid handsomely by Starcourt on top of all that.

There was this really famous male omega simply called Roxie that Steve had on a poster on his wall. His contract had been offered to be bought out a record number of twenty-seven times during his career. People like politicians and diplomats, rockstars and A-listers, the elite and the powerful. Rumor had that one of the princes of Saudi Arabia had offered three times, but Roxie turned them all down.

Steve wanted to be just like him. But he knew that if he voiced that he would be whisked away to the monastery before he could even blink. So threw his lot with wet nurse lot. Saying that it wouldn’t be that bad, he could still save money to go to school and become a teacher.

It was the teacher part that really got Clint Harrington. No Harrington omega had ever been a teacher in their great history and he was going to let his son become the first.

So Starcourt it was.

When he turned eighteen he would be sold off to the highest bidder to take his virginity.

When the time came, Steve was one of the highest cherries ever sold by Starcourt to the tune of one million dollars. His parents went away with their money and Steve got his back blown by a thirty year old pop princess alpha, who still hires Steve to service her ruts on occasion if she’s in town.

*

Steve loved his job. What he loved even more than that was his beta handler, Robin.

“Hello!” he greeted warmly as she slip into his penthouse suite in the morning with his favorite coffee and muffins.

“Good morning!” Robin greeted back. ��How was your night with Sir Kensington the third?”

Steve shrugged. “Boring. I loved the gala, but he just kept going on and on about how his estates had a water drainage problem and it kept flooding the basement. The first time I was sympathetic, the second time I was sincere, all the times after that? I could barely keep my eyes open! And! It strictly social, no sex. I would have tolerated it if there was at least the promise of mediocre sex afterwards.”

Robin winced. “Do you want him on your black list?” she asked, pulling out her tablet.

“Yes, please,” Steve said, pulling on a silk robe and sliding out of bed. “Send the usual black orchids and note.”

Robin nodded, making a note on her tablet. “And what do you want it to say?”

“When you take out a premier escort learn better material then irrigation. It was an irritation. If you want that kind of talk, get a mate for fuck’s sake. Passionately, S. Harrington.”

“Ooh,” Robin said with a grin. “It’s bitchy, succinct, and the most beautiful fuck you imaginable.”

Steve grinned back at her. “Thanks. I do so love to be bitchy. So what’s on my docket this week?”

“So you have a rut servicing with movie star Dillon Forrest starting tomorrow,” she said going through his schedule. “His ruts last three to four days and tends to get hungry right around day two. He hates cereal and protein bars or anything that ‘tastes like dirt’.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “As if that isn’t subjective as hell. And of course he doesn’t like the one thing that is the easiest to eat while literally out of his god damned mind.”

Robin hummed in agreement. “I’d try shakes, toss the protein powder in that.”

Steve nodded. “Make sure he’s house is stocked with fresh fruits and vegetables. Add some steaks or whatever to throw him off the scent. I’ll pack the protein powder in my kit.”

She nodded. “Next, you have the New Yorker charity gala with journalist Nancy Wheeler. She wants you in a tux, so I send in Pedro with your tuxes. Her dress is a metallic gold sequin slip dress with black lining.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I hate it when she wears metallic colors, it makes me looked washed out in comparison.”

“Sometimes I think she does it on purpose,” Robin groused.

Steve sighed. Nancy and he had dated briefly in high school before he presented as an omega and she an alpha. She actually had a mate, but Steve looked better on her arm at galas and charity events. That and her mate, Jonathan didn’t like the attention. He preferred to be behind the camera and not in front of it.

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” he said. “Put her on the pre-check list.”

Robin nodded. The pre-check list was a way to give the escorts a chance to decline an offer before it was set in stone. Usually the handler did that, but there were some cases where an alpha would pull shit like what Nancy did it was good for the omega to get a feeling of the event before the contract was set.

“Wear the dark blue jewel tone jacket with the black button up. That will prevent you from looking washed out, it’ll complement the dress and you get to one up your ex.”

Steve grinned. “Thank you, darling!” He leaped up and kissed her cheek. “You’re the best.”

“Also a heads up about the gala,” Robin said. “Tommy’s been tapped to escort talk show host Billy Hargrove.”

Steve flopped on the sofa dramatically. “Argh! Tommy’s going to be insufferable.”

Robin nodded. Tommy and Steve were “rival” escorts (it was mostly in Tommy’s head) who competed for the best clients. A three-time Emmy award winning talk show host was more “prestigious” then a one-time Pulitzer winning investigative reporter. Especially since that reporter was Steve’s ex.

“And with Nancy trying to sabotage my look for the night, he’s going to be gloating the whole time!” Steve continued.

“Well, thankfully you have a handler that thinks of these things before hand,” Robin said, rolling her eyes. “If Tommy gets in your face about it, ask Billy when was the last time he had person of color as a guest.”

Steve sat up on the sofa. “He’s never had, as far as I’m aware.”

Robin shook her head. “He does the ‘pandering’ thing around award season to make sure the Academy doesn’t notice his blatant racism.”

“Oh,” Steve said, his eyes glittering with mischief, “that would be a terrible embarrassment if someone were to bring that up at gala for people in news hosted by a black alpha, wouldn’t?”

Robin grinned. “It would be a damn shame.”

“You really are my platonic soulmate!” He jumped off the couch and flounced off to the bathroom. “Anything else for this week?”

Robin shook her head. “The schedulers were wanting to keep this week a bit thin because of how busy next week will be.”

Steve glared over his shoulder. “Don’t remind me. Two multiples and a rut servicing.”

“At least the first one is just a threesome,” Robin said with a wince. “Two alphas that want a cute little omega to freshen up their sex lives without looking to bond.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, but the other is some manager of a rock band ordering a gang bang for them because their shitty song went gold or platinum or whatever.”

Robin grimaced. “Yeah, that is pretty tacky. What’s worse is that they are all alphas.”

Steve dropped his robe with a heavy sigh. “Who’s the rut for?”

Robin looked through her tablet again. “Oh well that’s something at least. It’s Lonnie Goodwin.”

“That is a relief,” Steve said, shimmying out of his white silk briefs. “Lonnie’s good for a laugh. Do you want me to see if I can get you and Vickie tickets to his next Netflix special?”

Robin lit up. “Hell yes. He’s Vickie’s favorite comedian and her birthday is coming up next month.”

“Done, darling.”

He got into the shower and turned on the water as hot as it would go. He needed to warm up his muscles to be nice and limber. He got out and dressed in exercise clothes to go for a run. He put in his earbuds and turned up his music. He stretched and warmed up before heading out.

Walking out of his apartment building, he waved goodbye the doorman, Keith and set off down the road. He was listening to the band who was requesting the gang bang. Steve knew that the best way to get over an awkward beginning was to talk about things they were interested in.

So as part of his prep leading up to a client Steve liked to go through their social media, if they were famous any interviews they’ve done. Watch any movies or shows they’ve been in. Just really diving deep into their lives so that it was less a transaction and more like a date.

It was why Steve was so sought after, he never made his clients feel shame for hiring him.

Unfortunately that didn’t always go both ways. An escort at its core was still a sex worker and people still had problems with those. Even the ones doing the hiring of said escort.

But that’s why each escort had a handler. A beta that could come in and break up anything that might go wrong. Which is Steve loved Robin. He had seen her take down a raging alpha like it was a Sunday afternoon walk in the park. She looked thin and scrawny, but she was scrappy and tenacious.

When he came back from his run he showered again to get clean and then he slipped into some comfortable clothes to lounge around in. He could have done anything today. The Starcourt management team was intent on making sure their omegas had plenty of time between clients to rest, shop, hang out with their friends.

Starcourt omegas were some of the best kept omegas in the country, and it showed.

Steve would have done those other things if tomorrow wasn’t a rut servicing. They tended to be heavy on the exhausting side. Both physically and emotionally.

Because despite being infertile, they still experienced all the things that fertile omega did. Scenting, bonding, heats all came with being an omega whether you had the capability to have pups or not. There were always going to be times an artificial bond would occur, even with all the blockers they were on.

The bond would fade after a couple of days, but it was still hard on the omega when it happened.

Half way through his binge watching of the latest Netflix K-drama, Pedro came in with the tuxedos. They were blue jewel tones of varying shades and styles.

Once they had decided on a short jacket and necktie combo, his assistant Janica came in with accessories to chose from. Once everything was picked out, they went away again.

He debated going out to eat over making himself dinner. A couple of the omega escorts he knew had a professional chef, Tommy chief among them, but he liked to cook his own meals.

He decided to go out to eat, because he was going to be locked up in a room for the next few days and needed to get out for bit.

He got dressed in his favorite blue jeans, a blank tank top, and white short sleeved button up, that was left unbuttons. He pulled on his Nike’s and grabbed his cell phone and keys.

There was a taxi waiting for him by the time he got to the lobby. He loved his job.

He picked a nice restaurant near his place and sat down for a damn fine hamburger and fries.

At the end of the meal the waiter came up to him.

“Just charge the Starcourt account,” Steve said with a wave of his hand.

The waiter’s eyes went wide and he scrambled to do as he was told.

Steve left a hundred dollar tip on the table and then wandered back to the front of the restaurant where the same taxi took him back to his building. Where he finished the series with a tub of cookie dough ice cream.

****

Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17

So much world building in this. Which is why it takes so long to get to Eddie. But have no fear, none of what I'm putting in the next chapters is fluff. It will all make sense once we get to the Eddie chapters.

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @lexirosewrites @goodolefashionedloverboi @messrs-weasley @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @emly03 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @littlewildflowerkitten @vecnuthy @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @genderless-spoon @yikes-a-bee @anne-bennett-cosplayer @awkwardgravity1 @irregular-child @nburkhardt @apomaro-mellow @yellowdevilkitten @lingeringmirth @rememberthatiloveyou @demolvr

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #omegaverse #alpha eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #so much world building #like lots and lots #omega steve harrington

[annachum]

Not every lady is a warrior, and that's okay

Snow White isn't a warrior - she is a lady diplomat, and later ruler And that's okay

Cinderella isn't a warrior - she is a lady, artist, and later ruler, and that's okay

Aurora isn't a warrior - she is a lady, diplomat and later ruler. And that's okay

Jane Bennet isn't a warrior - she is a lady and artist. And that's okay

Meg March isn't a warrior - she is a homemaker, artist and lady. And that's okay

Hurrem Sultan isn't a warrior - she is a lady, diplomat, ruler and strategist. And that's okay

Lucrezia Borgia isn't a warrior - she is a lady, cultural patron and diplomat. And that's okay

Maid Marian isn't a warrior - she is a lady, cultural patron and diplomat. And that's okay

Cleopatra VII isn't really a warrior - she is a lady, alchemist and ruler. And that's okay

Scheherazade isn't really a warrior - she is a lady, storyteller, ruler and diplomat. And that's okay

Laura Vlahos ( Clint Barton's wife ) isn't a warrior - she is a medic. And that's okay

Cosette isn't a warrior - she is a lady and artist. And that's okay

Queen Guinevere isn't really a warrior - she is a lady, strategist, cultural patron and ruler. And that's okay

Millie ( 7 Brides ) isn't a warrior - she is a homemaker and agriculturalist. And that's okay.

Christine Daae isn't a warrior - she is a performing artist and lady. And that's okay

Duchess ( Aristocats ) isn't a warrior - she is a lady, socialite and musician. And that's okay

Lady Jocelyn ( A Knight's Tale ) isn't a warrior - she is a lady and diplomat. And that's okay

Padme Amidala isn't really a warrior - she is a lady, ruler, diplomat and politician. And that's okay.

A lady can be impressive even without swinging a weapon

#a lady can be impressive without swinging a weapon #not everyone is a warrior AND THATS OKAY #cleopatra vii #hurrem sultan #christine daae #cosette #jane bennet #meg march #snow white #cinderella #aurora #maid marian #silk hiding steel #scheherazade #queen guinevere #lady jocelyn #a knights tale #padme amidala #star wars #poto #les mis

[kangofu-cb]

WIP game!

Tagged by @there-must-be-a-lock - thank you for helping me share my shame XD

WIP I’m actually working on:

I’m like 15 pages deep in some Winterhawk space wizard AU brain rot that is entirely the fault of @claraxbarton. Should I be working on this? No. Is it one of my WIPs, fictional obligations, or an update on any series? Also no.

HOWEVER, someone wisely told me that rotating your WIP crops is good for the blorbo soil, so. This is my cover crop. Also it’s been really really fun and writing hasn’t been fun in like a whole ass year so I’m not going to stop doing it.

WIP I keep open in the background so I don’t feel guilty:

Fake-EMT Jason moves to New York to lay low until Batman stops being mad at him, meets Clint Barton and goes on a vendetta against the Tracksuit Draculas. Featuring sulking-about-it Bucky Barnes. This is a gift for @noxnthea which I AM going to finish, it just got kind of sidelined by the, you know, crushing depression of the last year or so.

Imaginary project:

A musician!AU inspired by the dumbest possible premise, which is the trailer from that terrible-looking JLo movie with Owen Wilson called ‘Marry Me’. It looks so incredibly dumb but would likely be incredible as a fanfic. Unfortunately I don’t know anything about the music industry so it’s basically dead in the water.

Passion project:

Always always aways Halfway House. It’s not abandoned, it’s just sadly neglected. I peck at it every so often, adding words here and there, and eventually one day it will grow even more!

WIP from 3 months ago:

The Loyalty of Wolves - werewolf AU my beloved. The gentle premise of this is that Bucky is a werewolf who can’t shift, and Clint is a werewolf who wants to help him so damn much. And also they fall in love. But then they totally pine about it because the love is required they’re just both idiots.

Side WIP:

I don’t really know what this category means, but I’ve decided it means the WIP that’s supposed to be to the side, and unfortunately that’s the first one on the list, so actually I’m gonna say it’s Social Graces, which is what I WAS working on before the brain rot got me.

No-pressure tags:

@claraxbarton @drgrlfriend @noxnthea @flawedamythyst @carcrash429 @cloud--atlas @violsva @captn-sara-holmes @downwarddnaspiral and anybody else who wants to fling their WIP business into the void!

#cb writes #meme game #WIP game #tag game

[trashywritestrash]

Brutal

Pairing: Avengers x Singer-Songwriter!Stark!Reader (platonic/family)

Word Count: 1,220

Warnings: Swearing, no specific age is given for reader, but she's between 18 and 21. Probably bad writing, heavy dialogue, song lyrics… Idk if half of those are warnings, but that’s what I’ve got.

A/N: This isn’t going to be the best thing I’ve written by a long shot. This whole thing is just like a daydream I have sometimes and I was encouraged to just write it out because maybe that would help me unclog the writers block. Honestly, I’ve just been drained lately and I don’t have the energy to be creative, so I’m cranking this thing out in the hopes that it’ll spark something. I’d call this a crack fic but I don’t know if it’s unhinged enough to qualify.

Song Reference: Brutal by Olivia Rodrigo

As the daughter of Tony Stark, you had been in the spotlight your entire life. So when you announced that you would be releasing your debut album as a musician, the internet was hyped up immediately. You didn’t need to promote it at all, but you still released small clips on social media and dropped a single before the release of the album.

The Avengers are close to you, they’re your big found family… But when they asked to listen to the album before the official release, you still said no. Obviously, they continued to ask and even attempted to bribe you, but you were adamant that they would have to wait like everyone else.

Finally, the album dropped. To celebrate, everyone gathered in the common area while you set up a camera to record their reactions as you all listened. In the living room sat your father, Pepper, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Natasha, Thor, Bruce, Clint, and Wanda. The “extended” team members like Peter Parker, the Guardians of the Galaxy, Carol, and Dr. Strange were listening on their own and simply texting you their thoughts.

“Okay, guys. Get your snacks and stuff now because I’m not going to wait ten minutes in between songs for you to grab something,” Tony bosses, completely impatient.

You chuckle, “You do know that I’m controlling the music, right?”

“Doesn’t matter. I’ll have Friday override the speakers if I have to.”

“Alright, are we ready yet? Yelena is already trying to text me about it and I don’t want spoilers,” Natasha complains from her spot on one of the couches, bowl of popcorn in hand.

“Yeah, yeah, settle down.” Once everyone is sat, you take your spot on a stool by the camera, “Okay, if you need me to pause or rewind, raise your hand or something. Or listen to it again later on your own. I’ll pause between songs so you can get your comments and questions out. Sound good?”

Sam waves his hand, “We got it, just play it already, we’re tired of waiting.”

“Patience, Samuel. Alright, the first song is called ‘Brutal’.” You press play on your phone, which is bluetooth connected to the speakers in the room.

The song opens with classical instrumental music, surprising the group. They’ve heard the clips released on your social media, and this doesn’t seem to fit at all.

I want it to be, like, messy.

Suddenly the music is louder and faster paced, taking on a more punk rock sound. Tony grins wide, “That’s my kid!”

I’m so insecure, I think

That I’ll die before I drink

And I’m so caught up in the news

Of who likes me, and who hates you

And I’m so tired that I might

Quit my job, start a new life

And they’d all be so disappointed

‘Cause who am I, if not exploited?

Reactions across the room are mixed. Bucky and Steve look a little thrown off, not used to this type of music. Tony looks prouder than ever. Pepper and Sam look proud, but you can tell they’re not sure what to think about the tone of it. Natasha and Clint have “I told you so” written all over their faces. Thor is enthusiastic and smiling wide. And Bruce and Wanda seem to be trying to dissect and analyze the lyrics as they listen.

And I’m so sick of seventeen

Where’s my fucking teenage dream?

“Language,” slips from Steve before he can stop himself. “Also, you’re not seventeen anymore?”

“I wrote it a while ago and I decided to leave it like that. I wanted it to be truthful to where I was in my life when I wrote it.” The group nods as the song continues.

If someone tells me one more time

“Enjoy your youth,” I’m gonna cry

And I don’t stick up for myself

I’m anxious and nothing can help

And I wish I’d done this before

And I wish people liked me more

“Awe, sweetheart,” Wanda frowns. Everyone seems conflicted. Like they’re unsure whether they should be banging their heads or offering you hugs.

All I did was try my best

This the kind of thanks I get?

Unrelentlessly upset (ah, ah, ah)

They say these are the golden years

But I wish I could disappear

Ego crush is so severe

God, it’s brutal out here

You frown at how the mood was brought down by the lyrics. Quickly, you pause. “Guys, stop that. This is supposed to be a fun song.”

“It is fun, but you’re my daughter, of course I’m going to be concerned,” Tony pouts. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this stuff?”

“Because I didn’t feel like I needed to. I get these feelings out in therapy and in my songs, so it’s not like I’m bottling it in. I have some healthy coping mechanisms.”

Bruce takes the opportunity to speak up. “Some?”

“Nobody’s perfect, Bruce. You guys don’t need to know everything.” You chuckle to diffuse the tension, but resume the music before anyone can argue.

I feel like no one wants me

And I hate the way I’m perceived

I only have two real friends

And lately, I’m a nervous wreck

‘Cause I love people I don’t like

And I hate every song I write

And I’m not cool and I’m not smart

And I can’t even parallel park

“Are we not your friends?” Thor pouts, genuinely sad.

“You guys don’t count. You’re family.” That answer seems to appease them, but they’re clearly still concerned. The chorus plays once more before the music starts to wind down.

Got a broken ego, broken heart

God, I don’t even know where to start

The song ends, so you pause before the next one automatically starts. “What did you guys think?” You wait nervously for their response. They mean a lot to you, so you want them to like your music.

“I loved it, but the lyrics are kinda sad when I think about them…” Pepper admits cautiously, not wanting you to think she didn’t like it.

You give her a nervous smile, “I’m gonna be honest. Some of the stuff on here is sad. Some of it is probably gonna upset you… I don’t tell you guys everything, and there are some things in here that you guys don’t know about. I’m sorry about that; but the last thing I want is for you guys to pity me or anything like that.” Chuckling, you attempt to lighten the mood. “I’m an angsty girl. In this album I get a little sad, a little angry, a little petty, but try not to get too heartbroken over it. Please?”

“No promises, kid. We’re your family. We’re absolutely going to get protective.” Sam grins, keeping his comment lighthearted, even though he means every word.

“Fine, I’ll take it.”

Steve raises his hand patiently, “Are all of the songs this… upbeat?” He asks, unsure of what to call the sound.

“No, some of them slow down. But some of them are more punk like this. I won’t give you a heart attack.” He laughs at your joke, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, I think we’re ready for the next one,” Clint says, causing the others to nod. “Hit us with it!”

You laugh, pulling up your music app. “Okay, okay. Here we go…”

—————

If you enjoyed this or would like to read more of my work, please consider liking, reblogging, or tipping my Ko-fi!

#nel writes #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #platonic avengers x reader #marvel x reader fanfiction #marvel x reader fanfic #avengers x reader fanfiction #avengers x reader fanfic #x reader fanfic #x reader fanfiction #platonic avengers #fanfiction #fanfic #song fic #marvel song fic

[galacticmemes]

plots inspired by my "halloween" playlist

Here are four roleplay plot ideas, inspired by songs from my seasonal playlist, particularly about ghosts & vampires.

HAMMER HORROR - Kate Bush Muse A was an actor, who died during the filming/production of something suitably spooky. Muse B has been cast as their replacement, but finds themselves haunted by visions of A. This plot could take place in a theatre or on a film set. Maybe even a spooky reality tv show, if you're really adventurous with it. Perhaps, you wish to include a co-star as Muse C, who would've known A. Maybe you wish to omit A as an active character and leave the reality of the spectre ambiguous. Is A a malicious or a tragic and benevolent spirit?

CLINT EASTWOOD - Gorillaz Muses A and B were always incredibly close, to the point where only death could separate them. Only, once A died, they decided to stick around with B as a ghost. Now sharing a body, A is able to possess B's body and provide their unique skillset beyond the grave, or use B's body as a vessel. Maybe B is a musician, and A provides vocal talents. Perhaps A was an incredible fighter, or an actor, or some just an amazing driver. Whatever it might be, death can't seem to separate this particular double act.

Decode - Paramore Muses A and B are caught in a game of romantic cat and mouse. A is human, and since they met the elusive and mysterious B, they've found themselves constantly drawn together. By putting up their own guards and walls, can A work out who and what B is? Or perhaps these walls will break down and they'll just make fools of themselves?

VAMPIRES WILL NEVER HURT YOU - My Chemical Romance Muses A and B are vampire hunters who have a close, if tense relationship (could be romantic, platonic or even familial). This is honestly a pretty good setup for them, but everything changes when A gets bitten. A has always been adamant that if they ever got bitten, they'd want to be killed, but B can't bring themselves to do that to someone they love. Can B find a cure for A in time? Is A mad at B for not carrying through on their verbal contract? What if A adjusts to living as a vampire?

#roleplay plots #roleplay prompts #rp prompts #rp plots #plot ideas #wanted plots #halloween plots #supernatural plots #vampire plots #ghost plots #. plots by galacticmemes

[rosepetalsinwinter]

Meant to Be — Bucky Barnes (5)

Chapter 5 — Fie Ce-o Fi

Pairing: mafia!bucky x innocent!reader

Word count: 10,335

Summary: Preparations for the wedding have begun. How is the girl dealing with everything, and just what is James Barnes up to?

Warnings: depressive thoughts, language, brief violence and torture.

Note: Buckle in for a long one. Excuse any mistakes, I will fix them as I find them. Barely edited, because I wanted it out!

Welp. Let me know what you guys think. 💜💜

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Chapter 4 — Chapter 5 — Chapter 6

I saw grief drinking a cup of sorrow and called out, "It tastes sweet, does it not?" "You've caught me," grief answered, "and you've ruined my business. How can I sell sorrow when you know it's a blessing?"

— Jalaluddin Rumi

April 27th, 2018

A week. Was that enough time to plan a wedding? The girl didn't think so; neither did her wedding planner, who swore up a storm when she learned as much.

"Seven days?" the petite Japanese woman exclaimed when Fleur broke the news. "Seven days to plan a wedding? Seven days to plan the wedding of the century?"

For some reason, Leah Ishikawa, the wedding planner, kept getting stuck on the seven days. The girl was unfazed, however, having had the time to undergo a similar attack in the morning.

"Mr. Burgundy told me to encourage you to work closely with Mrs. Winnifred Barnes and Miss Rebecca," said Fleur in her thick accent, opting to take charge of the conversation since it was clear the girl was unable to. "I understand they have already done a lot of the work. Mr. Burgundy wants you to make sure all of the bride's expectations are met."

The girl was curled up on the couch in her room, listening idly to the conversation while she stared out the window. She briefly heard Leah mention a photoshoot of some sort but was promptly distracted by the guards making their rotations on the grounds.

Security had tightened immensely since her talk with her father that morning. He placed guards at all the entrances, and their job was to keep an eye on her. The one outside her room was particularly annoying, calling her "kiddo" and making jokes that all seemed to land short. He introduced himself as "Clint Barton, skilled marksman and your babysitter for the week." Clint was to follow the girl with two men of his choosing if she ever felt the need to make an appearance in public.

She did not. However, it was not up to her because, right away, Leah loudly declared that they were "going shopping."

They arrived at an exclusive Italian fashion house, whose name she couldn't pronounce, and the girl tried on multiple dresses of varying colours and lengths. She sat in the backseat of an escalade, with the child lock on, while Clint used her father's card to pay.

Back at the house, she stared numbly at the wall while light flashed in her peripheral, and a photographer asked her to smile.

She wanted to cry.

"For the invitations," Leah said. "I heard a rumour the Patriarch of All Romania was specifically asked to attend, so you better smile."

The girl mustered all the energy she could and did as asked. The artificial smile stayed on her face for the next few days. She made small talk with the esthetician lasering the hair off her body, and joked with the ladies at the spa who were giving her a manicure. The girl even spoke personally with the baker decorating her cake, telling him she wanted "something sweet and romantic, to symbolize the love she shared with her fiancé."

Her father's warning loomed a constant shadow over her. "Don't give me any reason to remind you."

The threat to her best friend's life kept the girl from showing her real emotions. A crippling fear coursed through her veins, and the pit in her gut that never seemed to go away became as prominent as ever. She spent her days smiling through several appointments with various professionals—florists, caterers, and musicians. She spent her nights curled up on the bean bag in the tree house, dreaming of her brother, waking up drenched in sweat in the aftermath.

Despite the girl's bleak reality, the full force of her situation did not hit her until a few days before the wedding, during her first dress fitting.

"Deep breath in."

The girl didn't know how she could possibly breathe in more. Her lungs were already at max capacity.

Maria Rambeau was a big name in the wedding business. She was a majestic sight to behold, with grey streaks in her stylishly short hair. In her prime, Maria dressed celebrities such as Amal Clooney and Elizabeth Taylor. The girl was supposed to be appreciative—excited, even, by her presence, but she could only manage a tight-lipped smile and muted enthusiasm, which she blamed on nerves before the big day. Maria Rambeau's team took over her entire room, hauling out long racks of white dresses of all styles and shapes.

The girl gave them free rein to put her in whatever they deemed fit. She had no energy left to be picky. Her mood immediately shifted when they put her in the first dress. She stiffened in front of the mirror, one foot on the raised podium and the other curling around the soft carpet.

She was wearing white. Unsure why that detail stuck out, it was all she could focus on. She tried on a second dress, indifferent to the heated discussion around her. More lace, less lace. A-line, satin, ball gown, taffeta. It all became a blur.

Fleur placed a gentle hand on the girl's elbow, which she barely felt, and helped her down the podium. They measured her once more, cinching her waist, asking her to stand straighter. Fleur caught the girl's blank look and offered a smile that went unreturned.

She walked up to the podium after trying on what felt like the thousandth dress of the day. The entire room fell silent, so she turned toward the mirror to see what was wrong.

She looked pretty. But, of course, she did. The girl had lost weight in the last couple of days due to all the stress, making her look frail. She was done up like a barbie doll, all prim and proper. With all signs of sleep concealed, an unnatural blush on her cheek, and elongated lashes, she no longer looked like herself. Money was prone to do that to a person.

Gone were the lines around her mouth whenever she smiled. Gone was the spark in her eyes that came with the feeling of being alive and free. She wasn't free, and she certainly did not feel alive.

The dress was pretty too. Long, flowy, tight, and big. It stuck to the girl like a second skin, letting her leg peek out, just barely teasing the apex of her thigh. She grabbed the strapless neckline and pulled. It was tight, with no chance of falling, though she could not help but fear it anyway.

Melancholy struck out of nowhere—Dove, with her infectious smile and bold ideas. She would laugh at the girl if she could see her now.

Maybe it was the wishful thinking of two young girls—two naïve girls—to want a wedding together. Dove was supposed to marry first—an impromptu wedding off the coast of an island city, on a stolen (read: borrowed) yacht. During the bouquet toss, Dove planned to hurl the flowers straight at her friend's face, and as a bridesmaid, the girl would have no choice but to honour the tradition; and marry.

A year later, the girl would marry somewhere "romantic" and "old" (like her soul, according to Dove). Their kids would grow to become friends, and the two would live as neighbours with their respective husbands by their sides.

Wishful thinking, as she mentioned before, of two naïve girls. It all seemed so impossible now. So unreal. Like a dream or a fleeting mirage.

When she was a little girl, her brother walked her down an imaginary aisle to marry her imaginary husband. She had long since grown out of that childish phase, yet still, even years later, the girl could not help the thread of longing that pulled at her heart from the idea.

She was in no hurry to admit to anyone that she had planned her wedding in between daydreams. Just her and her betrothed, under the night sky, mimicking the palace of mirrors that emperor Shah Jahan built for his beloved.

How foolish.

The crowd mistook the girl's quiet sniffles as a positive reaction, when in reality, she was dangerously teetering the edge of dissociation, half stuck in her dreams and half in her nightmares.

Rambeau, teetering the edge of seventy-six, took slow steps towards the girl and placed a veil over her head.

"Oh, goodness! You look gorgeous!" Maria exclaimed, clapping her hands like a child. The future Mrs. Barnes made the most beautiful bride.

The girl sniffed again and wiped a tear from under her eye. So, naturally, the entire room erupted in cheers of approval because what else could she be crying about, if not in happiness over her upcoming nuptials?

She was tired, achy, and sad, barely able to breathe in the dress. She wanted nothing more than to get out of the constricting fabric.

"This one," she demanded desperately, yearning for the torment to end. "I want this one!"

And as anticipated, no one complained. How could they? It was the perfect dress in their eyes, and she was the perfect bride.

"Oh!" exclaimed one of the designers. "It's a perfect fit too! We won't need to do much altering."

The girl couldn't breathe right, but she decided against saying anything. She just wanted the day to be over.

A knock sounded at the door, and Fleur, who had been a quiet and passive observer till then, ran to open it. She had her eyes trained on the floor throughout the entire ordeal, choosing to keep her opinions to herself. Perhaps it was because they weren't favourable to the majority of the room. No one wanted to hear that the fitting was a waste of time, that the bride didn't care much to walk down the aisle in a white dress, if at all.

"Mr. Burgundy? Come in," said Fleur. "Your daughter was just finishing up."

Danial Burgundy's presence filled the entire space, making it feel much smaller than it was. He nodded to the people occupying the room, then extended his hands towards Rambeau.

"I take it the fitting went well," Danial observed.

"Beautifully," replied Maria. "Don't know where you've been hiding her."

Danial shrugged. "Can never be too careful." His demeanour was casual, but the implication was anything but.

Maria seemed a smart woman and easily took the hint. "That is true. I always thought your wife was the most beautiful bride I ever dressed, but your daughter easily surpassed her."

The mention of her mother's wedding surprised the girl.

Danial nodded in acknowledgement. "Speaking of, I'd like a moment alone with her."

This was ridiculous. The room was starting to spin now, and it was becoming harder to breathe. The girl wanted out.

The room cleared as quickly as lightning. Maria's entire team was gone in seconds, leaving behind all their supplies. Fleur gave the girl a warning look before making her way out as well, shutting the door behind her.

"You look..." Danial began, unable to adequately put into words all that he was feeling.

"Different?" supplied the girl.

"Yes. But it's not your—"

"—My style," she finished for him. I know."

Danial nodded nervously. "Yes, well, you look good. Pretty. Beautiful."

The girl did not bother giving him a reply. Her mind was still stuck on her former life. Like a broken record, she found herself going back in time when things were different. And how cruel, wishing for something she could no longer have.

Four years of her life wasted, gone down the drain. What did her school think happened to her? She had a life in Vancouver, a job, friends, a routine—now she had nothing. Did anyone notice she was gone? Did Dove believe whatever lie she was fed about the girl's whereabouts? She would never find out. Just like she would never get to walk down the stage and receive her degree.

Though, the girl would be doing a similar thing tomorrow. She would walk down the aisle instead of a stage, would stand in front of a priest and her fiancé instead of the chancellor and the entirety of her graduating class. Instead of a degree and a new job, she would receive a kiss and a lifelong prison sentence.

"Your mother would have loved to see you like this. She always wanted you to get married," said Danial.

The girl blinked, briefly taken by surprise. "I assumed differently. I thought she'd be too busy having the time of her life in the Bahamas to even think about me."

Hurt flashed through her father's face so quickly she was sure she imagined it. "She'd still want to be there for the big day," he insisted.

"Okay," the girl said simply, not believing her father but wanting to end the conversation. She turned away, mindlessly eyeing her reflection in the mirror.

"I haven't given you a wedding present yet," Danial told her.

The girl scoffed. He was joking, surely. "I don't need a present," she replied blandly.

"There must be something," he teased, "that you want."

"I don't want to marry a monster," her heart screamed. "I want to be free." But those were unrealistic things to ask. Then a thought hit her. "I spent the past five years working toward my degree."

Her father stood behind her, towering over her frame in the reflection. "What are you asking?" he demanded sternly. Perhaps he knew her train of thought. They were, after all, much to her dismay, of the same blood.

"I'm asking for one day. To walk the stage, say goodbye to my old life." She straightened her shoulders, unwilling to back down this time. "I want to graduate. That is what I want for the wedding present."

"No." Not the most surprising response, but irritating nonetheless.

"It's only a day," she countered. "Twenty-four hours. That's all I'm asking."

Danial clenched his jaw and flexed his hands. "No," he declared.

His second refusal felt like a slap. Tears of resentment gathered in her eyes. "You're not being fair. I've done everything you asked."

"Life isn't fair," he retorted.

"Papa, please." The girl didn't mean to call him that. It just slipped out in her most vulnerable state.

The ice around Danial's heart began to melt. She had not called him that in almost ten years—since the decline of their relationship. To hear it after so long was like a punch to his gut. In his surprised state, Danial let his daughter's plea seep through his defences—he deserved it—and let himself soak in her pain and grief. White, hot guilt clawed up his spine, but he stomped it before it could take root.

"No," Danial said again, more decided in his answer than before. He turned on his heel and walked out of the room before the first tear could leave her eye and drop to the floor. Danial bid farewell to his old friend and sent her back in. Why couldn't she have asked for diamonds instead? He decided he needed a drink.

Back in the room, a crowd gathered once more. "Now," said one of the assistants, oblivious to the torment the girl was going through, "let's see what we can do about getting you some matching lingerie."

The girl smiled through the tears threatening to fall down her face. She supposed she would always be one of those who dream. And her dreams would have to be enough because whoever said that "dreams always come true" was a goddamn liar.

May 3rd, 2018

He woke with a shout. Cold seeped through his clothes and into his skin, making him shiver violently.

"Fuck!" he shouted, pulling the covers away from his body. He ran a hand over his eyes, wiping the water from his face. "What the fuck?"

Bucky glared up at Steve, who stood next to Bucky with a shit-eating grin. "Rise and shine, beautiful."

"Fuck you, Rogers," Bucky grumbled in defeat, letting himself fall back onto the mattress. "Was the ice water necessary?" he asked, annoyed.

"I called your name five times," Steve defended. "You shouldn't have gotten piss drunk if waking up in the morning was going to be a problem."

Bucky rolled his eyes, then rolled out of bed, discarding his wet shirt for a dry one. He immediately stumbled to the kitchen and dry swallowed a couple of ibuprofen, groaning when his head pounded in response. "Shit. My head."

"I did warn you. If you remember." Steve handed Bucky a glass of cold water, which he promptly gulped down. "Sometime before your ninth or tenth shot."

"Can a man not enjoy his bachelor party without getting shit in return?!" Bucky snapped irritably. Images from last night bombarded him, flashes of light and colour, sweaty skin against his own, and wandering hands over his muscles—A flash of blonde hair and red lips. His head pounded to the beat of the bass, mimicking whatever sound must have been playing at the club.

"Geez. You need to get laid." Steve laughed when Bucky shot him a glare. A lesser man would have cowered under that look, but Steve knew his friend would never hurt him. They shared a bond stronger than family.

"I would never," Bucky sternly reminded his friend. Despite all his flaws and shortcomings, the mafia man was proud to say he was a faithful lover. He would never disrespect his fiancé by cheating on her, even if he had yet to meet the girl.

"How long has it been since you..." Steve let his words trail off, but the question was obvious.

Bucky started a pot of coffee, taking out two mugs. "Too long," he scoffed, leaning back against the counter. He crossed his arms and glared at the ceiling. "Since that thing with Rollins a month ago."

Tensions had been high among the men since that day, and Bucky started spending more time in his office than in his bed. There was no time between all the chaos for Bucky to take a girl to bed. There was always someone that needed to be dealt with, always a problem that needed solving. Then, news of his engagement made local headlines. Bucky definitely couldn't take a girl to bed after that.

"Yeah," Steve murmured, "that whole thing was a shit show."

Bucky rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. "Can't wait till that bastard is rotting six feet under." He reached behind him and poured the finished coffee for himself and Steve.

Steve grabbed the small jar of sugar from the counter, then reached for a spoon. Bucky was quick. He slammed the half-open drawer shut and plucked a clean spoon from the sink. Steve almost saw the device he hid there. Bucky would need to be more careful.

"Take this instead," he offered. Bucky didn't bother with an explanation. Nothing he could say would convince Steve.

Steve paused a beat before relenting. He knew his friend was hiding something; he also knew he would find out sooner than later what it was.

"Milk?" Bucky asked though he knew the answer.

"Just a little." Steve made his coffee just how he liked it and set it on the table. "Hey, at least you'll be getting some tonight." And they had moved on.

"Tonight?" Bucky questioned, taking a sip of his Italian Roast. Black, just the way he liked it. Then it hit him. Yeah, he was definitely getting some. He chuckled and shook his head. "Doubt she'll let me try anything the second we meet. I'll probably have to wait for the honeymoon."

"Yeah?" Steve smirked. "When's that?"

"The sixth. It's a Sunday. Three days after the reception." Yes, it was quick and hasty, but Danial Burgundy insisted, and his own father was no help. "Just hurry up and pop out a couple of children, why don't you?" Danial Burgundy and the older Barnes had laughed, but Bucky didn't find the idea as amusing. While he respected Danial, he was in no position to tell Bucky what to do.

Bucky ran a hand over his face and scoffed. "The fucking reception. Don't know how I'll survive it." The last thing he wanted was to be paraded around his father's friends like some zoo animal.

You only get married once, Buck. "You could try to look forward to it," Steve reprimanded. Between the two friends, he was mostly the more level-headed one.

"I am looking forward to it," Bucky smirked, wiggling his brows for effect. "A lot."

Steve frowned as if Bucky had personally offended him. "I'm not talking about the honeymoon, punk. Have some respect for the missus."

Bucky only smiled wider. "You haven't seen her yet, have you?"

"No, but you haven't either," Steve pointed out.

Bucky just shrugged with a smug grin as if he knew something Steve didn't.

"No." Steve's eyes widened. "You fucker. When?"

Bucky mimicked zipping his lips shut. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

"Fuck that. I thought your dad forbade you."

Bucky shrugged again.

"When?" Steve demanded.

"Exactly a week ago. I had some business with Danial, and I just happened to see little Burgundy walk out of his office in a tiny two-piece."

"Well, shit!"

Bucky smirked wider. He pushed off the wall he was leaning against and went to his room to grab the black manilla folder containing his fiancé's information.

He returned to find Steve sitting in the breakfast nook, polishing an apple against his shirt. "Here." Bucky tossed the manilla toward his friend, who promptly flicked through it.

"Woah!" Steve's eyes grew wide. "She's pretty."

"She's fucking gorgeous," Bucky smugly agreed.

"Can't believe she's a Burgundy," Steve expressed, eyes flicking over the girl's picture.

Bucky hummed in agreement. There she was, Bucky's fiancé, his wife-to-be, wearing a sensible pair of pants with a loosely fitted henley. Nothing special. It was her smile, all soft and inviting, that made her irresistible. He desperately wanted the girl's attention directed at him instead of the nondescript book in her hand. Bucky wanted to see her smile in the sunlight instead of through a thin piece of paper; he wanted a taste to see if she was as sweet as she looked. He wanted her swollen lips wrapped around his—

"She's got nice eyes."

Bucky scratched the back of his neck. He really needed to get laid. "Uh, yeah, she does. By the way, what would Sharon say about you admiring my girl?" Bucky teased.

Steve went deathly still before the corners of his mouth lifted in an arrogant smirk. "You wouldn't fucking dare, asshole. I'd cut your tongue out."

Bucky burst into a fit of laughter. "You get real fucking scary when it comes to your wife."

Steve merely smiled.

The shrill ringing of Bucky's phone interrupted the candid moment between the two friends. Bucky only briefly glanced at the caller ID before his smile dropped and his expression hardened.

"This is Barnes," he answered gruffly.

Even Steve Rogers straightened his shoulders at Bucky's tone. It was bewildering how quickly Bucky could go from a carefree young man to a hardened crime boss.

"Who?" Bucky seethed in response to the person on the other line. "Motherfucker!" He slammed the table with his palm and swallowed thickly, attempting to control his reaction. "When?"

Bucky swore again at the answer. "If you let him out of your fucking sight for even a second, Razor, I'll gut you and feed you to the fish. Understood?" he snapped, ending the call once Razor voiced agreement.

"What happened?" Steve broke the silence after a brief moment of pause. He knew the call meant nothing good but wanted to hear it himself.

"I have to go," Bucky offered as a response. He took long strides towards his room, hastily changing out of his nightclothes and into a clean suit. Bucky didn't bother with a tie. He would have to take it off anyway.

He retrieved his Colt 1911 from his dresser, along with his rings. The Colt belonged to his father, who gave it to Bucky on his eighteenth birthday. And the ring...? There was something to be said about the surprise on his enemy's face when a mediocre punch opened their skin, letting blood flow everywhere—Not that Bucky ever threw mediocre punches. After all, he was trained in martial arts from a young age.

Steve walked in when Bucky was tucking his gun in the waistband of his trousers. "What happened?" he asked once more.

"Rollins happened."

"Good or bad?"

"Both," Bucky replied. "Three of my men are dead."

"Okay," Steve raised an eyebrow. "That's bad."

"We have the guy who did it," Bucky finished.

"Rollins?"

Bucky shook his head. "One of his rat bastards."

"That's still good, right?" Steve asked, confused why Bucky was so upset about the win.

Bucky's voice lowered in a mix of empathy and regret. "Phil's gone."

Steve plopped himself down onto Bucky's bed. "How?"

"Knife through the chest."

Steve clutched his hair with white knuckles and groaned lowly. "Those fuckers."

Ever since the two mobsters met Phil four years ago, he became a brother to them. And while he worked for the Barnes Mafia, he was also loyal to the Rogers'.

Steve composed himself and stood on shaky legs. "I'm coming with you," he announced, determined in his efforts.

"No, you're not," Bucky scoffed, putting on a pair of loafers.

"You can't stop me," Steve warned. "I won't let those bastards get away with this!"

"And you think I will?" Bucky suddenly exploded, losing the last of his temper. He was just as upset as Steve over their friend's death. Bucky grabbed Steve by the shoulders and pulled him close. "I'll make every last one of them pay. I swear to you, Stevie, those motherfuckers will get what they deserve. But I need you here."

Steve opened his mouth to argue, but Bucky interrupted him.

"Someone needs to plan the funeral. Phil deserves a proper goodbye."

Steve let his shoulders slump in defeat. He knew Bucky was right, yet he tried to convince him again. "You've got a wedding to attend in a few hours."

Bucky playfully shoved his friend away. "And who can guarantee the groom is punctual, if not the best man?"

"Yeah," Steve finally relaxed, though Phil's death was still fresh on his mind. An unfortunate consequence of their lifestyle. "You know I've got your back, punk."

"Asshole," Bucky returned without hesitation.

"Pussy."

"Bitch."

"Son of a bitch."

"Hey!" Bucky exploded, wagging an accusatory finger. "Don't bring my ma into this."

"Speaking of your ma," Steve continued smoothly, "she is going to be pissed as fuck if you get blood in your nails."

Bucky shrugged, grabbing his keys from the dresser. "I won't. I promise. I've got men for that."

There was blood everywhere, not that he could be bothered by it. One look at the man tied to the chair in front of him made Bucky forget his promise to Steve. His hands were bloodied in seconds.

Razor left a while ago, opting to give his boss some privacy. Since then, the dark basement had been filled with small whimpers and muffled screams. Bucky was unsatisfied. He swung his arm in a swift right hook and laughed when he received only a minuscule groan as a reaction. "You're no fun," Bucky teased. He reached for his gun, smiling as the man struggled against his restraints. "Scared?" Bucky mocked. "You shouldn't be."

Bucky placed his gun on the small table to his left, waiting for the man to relax before bending down and retrieving a knife from his ankle. It was long and slender—sturdy in his hands, and perfect for carving.

"I hear you like knives." Bucky smirked at the look of horror that crossed the man's face. "I don't see the appeal, personally. There're guns, swift and clean—kind of loud, but they don't leave a huge mess. You want to be discreet? Poison works wonders. You don't know you're dying until you're dead. But knives? They just seem excessively messy."

The man in the chair stiffened.

"I wonder what all the fuss is about," Bucky mused, running a finger along the sharp blade. He sucked his bottom lip in contemplation, releasing it with a pop. "Why don't I find out?" And Bucky brought the weapon down on the man's leg, smiling when the scream he was looking for finally reached his ears.

He quickly retrieved the blade, slamming it into its new home in the man's other leg. There was nothing to be done about the blood. Bucky would no doubt receive a swift tongue lashing from his mother about it, but he could still fulfill his other promise to Steve.

Bucky would make every last one of them pay, starting with the rat bastard in front of him.

May 3rd, 2018

She woke to the sweet smell of maple. A smile immediately graced her sleepy face, and she stretched her arms above her head, contorting her body to eliminate any aches or soreness from the night before. A joint cracked, maybe two, and she sighed in relief.

The girl could smell maple and... cinnamon, was it? The aroma permeated the room, making her sink deeper into the soft mattress. Indistinctly, a soft melodic voice reached her ears.

"What language is that?" she wondered.

Fleur almost dropped the tray of food she was holding. Her wide eyes narrowed in a faux glare. "You scared me."

"It's not french," the girl observed. She tried to remember the words in her dazed state. "Sounds slavic.ˈDrage wo t͡sto ˈmisliɫəm? Sokovian, maybe."

Fleur placed the tray on the edge of the bed with unnecessary force. "It was nothing. Here."

The girl let out a small yawn and raised herself on her elbows. "It sounded beautiful." She gave Fleur her version of what she hoped was a genuine smile. "I had a Sokovian friend in school."

"You talk too much," Fleur chastised. "Eat."

"Wait!" The girl urgently grabbed Fleur to stop her from leaving. "Eat with me."

"No." Fleur pulled her arm away. "I have a lot to do. I have to pack a bag for you, and—"

"Please? I don't want anything to go to waste." Her eyes were wild with need, and Fleur must have seen the despair swirling behind the girl's bright irises because she relented.

The two sat side by side and drank from the same cup of hot chocolate. The girl ate a piece of fruit and soaked some of the bread in the hot chocolate, at which Fleur raised a perfectly arched brow.

"Your hair looks almost red in the sun."

Fleur touched her head. "No, it doesn't," she replied fiercely. "It's blonde. Have you ever seen a red-haired french person before?"

"Izgleda da ne." I guess not, the girl murmured in Sokovian.

"You have an affinity for languages or something?" Fleur asked casually.

"Or something," the girl answered. "I mentioned my friend. I learned french from him, some Sokovian too. Also, I wanted to travel the world for Investigative Journalism. It made sense to learn more languages." She shrugged a shoulder. "What a waste."

"Not completely. You could continue after your marriage."

"Not likely."

The two ate in relative silence, taking much longer than needed to finish a simple meal, and bartered meaninglessly until the last crumb was wiped clean. And even then did not move, satisfied for a time with being in each other's company.

May 3rd, 2018

She thought she knew privilege—had seen the dirty reality of it beneath the many layers—but she was merely ignorant of its candidness. The wealth she found herself surrounded by was incomparable to the previous advantages granted to her for being a Burgundy.

The girl stumbled upon exiting the private elevator, surprised to find herself in a foyer. Then she noticed the view, and her legs almost gave out. She should have expected this would be no ordinary hotel—but perhaps her expectations were askew if she presumed to find herself in a small one-bedroom, much like what she lived in when she left home.

The girl looked down and saw her reflection staring back at her in the marble. The place was so big she was worried she would get lost. The attendant's voice went through one ear and out the other. The girl only managed to catch a few details. Two floors, five-bed, six-bath, a lounge and a private terrace, among other things. She wondered how much it cost.

She must have voiced her previous thought because the attendant smiled brightly. "Seventy-five per night."

She gasped in surprise. "Seventy-five hundred?" She couldn't imagine anyone spending that much money on a single hotel room.

The attendant frowned, clearly offended. "No. It's seventy-five thousand per night. Your fiancé booked the penthouse for three nights; the entire hotel for two."

The girl choked on air. She knew James Barnes was wealthy, but she never imagined this. "The entire hotel?" Exactly how many people were coming to the wedding?

"Yes, ma'am. Your entire wedding party is staying with us. And your bridesmaids will stay at the penthouse while you are on your honeymoon."

The girl felt sick. Positively and irrevocably. First, the shock of finding out how wealthy her fiancé was, then to hear him referred to as hers. Her fiancé. Her wedding. Her bridesmaids. Her honeymoon.

"I assumed Mr. Barnes would have told you," the attendant continued, mildly concealed suspicion lacing her voice.

Vaguely, the girl was aware a question had been asked and that she should answer said question, but a sudden dizziness overtook her. She stared at a small smudge on the mirror to her left—a lone imperfection amongst an otherwise spotless surface—and focused on breathing through her nose and out of her mouth.

Fleur placed a cold hand on the girl's back when she remained unresponsive. "Miss Burgundy?"

The girl blinked and refocused her attention. "I'm alright," she said. "Just a bit dizzy. I think I should sit down."

The attendant's eyes instinctively trailed down the girl's abdomen. "Would you like some water... or some champagne, perhaps?"

"Neither," the girl replied with a forced smile. "Thank you for the tour, but I'll rest for a bit.." The tour was nowhere near finished; it had hardly begun, but the dismissal was palpable.

"Of course," the attendant said with a polite nod. "I hope you enjoy your stay and feel better before your wedding." She stared at the girl's stomach as she left the room, almost bumping into the two guards at the door.

"Is that the bride?"

A large group of girls immediately bombarded her when she entered the main lounge. They wore identical robes, with the hotel logo embroidered on the sleeves, and sipped on flutes of champagne; her bridesmaids.

It quickly became clear there were two kinds of girls in the room. The first kind surrounded her with overly fake smiles and gave her compliments they didn't mean.

"Oh! Where did you get those shoes? They're so cute," said a tall redhead. They were second-hand from a thrift shop and were not cute.

The second kind, scattered varyingly across the space, visually sized her up. Their judgemental eyes scanned the girl head to toe, taking in her frayed jeans and scuffed shoes. Her messy hair, dry lips, and red eyes. Their stares lingered on her chest and bottom—on her waist—as if she were merely an object for them to criticize. It was clear they saw nothing of interest when they quickly dismissed her and continued their hushed conversations.

Two blondes of the second kind made their way over to the girl, pulling her down to sit with them. She shook their offered hands, hoping they couldn't feel the sweat lining her palms.

"You are one lucky bitch to be marrying James Barnes," said a bottle blonde with overly filled lips painted a bright pink. She stunk of Chanel. "I didn't know he had a girlfriend until I got the wedding invite."

Heat rose to the girl's face. She gave the two a rehearsed answer. "Oh. We didn't want the relationship to be public. James likes his privacy."

The taller blonde thrust a flute of champagne into the girl's hand before sipping on her own. She was perfectly tall, with legs that went on for days. Green eyes framed with long lashes. She lightly ran the pad of her thumb along a bright red lip. "Bucky does like his privacy, doesn't he?" she mused. "I would know," she shrugged a delicate shoulder, "from experience."

"Bucky?" the girl questioned.

"James. His close friends call him Bucky."

"Oh..." That felt like something she should have known. "Right. Of course," she laughed nervously. "Sorry, I didn't get much sleep last night."

The blonde hummed in consideration. "Yes, I can see that."

The girl blinked. Someone behind her snickered.

"Oh, what was your name?" the blonde continued. "It completely slipped my mind."

The girl took a large sip of her drink before answering.

"How cute. My name's Dorothy." She reached over to bop the girl's nose. "You can call me Dot. Everyone does. This is Chanel."

The girl gave Dot a shaky smile. "It's nice to meet you, Dot." It wasn't. It really wasn't. She then turned to Chanel, praying she could keep a straight face. "And you."

"I'm surprised you didn't have a bachelor party," said Chanel. "Bucky sure went all out."

"Yes," Dot agreed. "Why didn't you?"

The girl stuttered around a response. "James—I don't—I didn't feel like it."

"Well, he missed you."

"Who did?" The girl asked incredulously.

"Bucky, who else?" Dot raised a brow. "I had to stay with him all night to make sure he wouldn't call or try to see you." She twirled a strand of hair with her finger. "It's bad luck to see each other before the wedding."

The girl didn't know what to say, so she settled for something generic. "Oh. I missed him too." It seemed her betrothed held no similar qualms about the marriage if he felt happy enough to party.

"Show us the ring!" Chanel suddenly demanded.

The bride-to-be presented her left hand to the room, prompting the ladies to huddle closer. "How cute." Dot turned to Chanel. "Isn't it just like the one James gave me on my birthday?"

Chanel nodded eagerly. "Except yours is bigger, I think."

Dot hummed in agreement. "Heavier too. Oh, but yours is so much cuter! Suits your personality perfectly."

What would this stranger know about her personality? The girl wondered if this was how mundane people made friends—sizing the competition with backhanded compliments to see who broke first. She glanced around the room. No one here was normal, least of all her.

"Thank you." She wanted to cry.

"So, Mrs. Barnes, do tell us. How did you and James meet?" someone asked.

"She's not Mrs. Barnes yet, dear," Dot quickly corrected, managing to sound both sarcastic and snobbish.

The girl laughed uncomfortably, plastering the biggest smile she could muster. "No, I still have a few hours before that happens.

Dot hummed. "Regardless, I would love to know the story. Bucky has been so uncharacteristically tight-lipped about you. He usually tells me everything."

Panic took over, and the girl looked at Fleur for guidance—They hadn't practiced this—only to find Fleur glaring somewhat discreetly at Dot. "We, uh—Our families knew each other!" the girl hastily answered. "There was a dinner. One thing led to another, and here we are—"

"Excuse me, do I know you?"

Confused, the girl froze at Dot's jarring question, only to find the blonde's attention on her maid.

Fleur schooled her expression into a passive one. "I doubt it, miss." Her accent was more pronounced than ever, surprising the girl who thought Fleur was improving.

Dot narrowed her eyes, briefly dropping her jolly and quick-witted persona. "No, I've definitely seen you before."

"Fleur's been working for my father for a while," the girl supplied. "Maybe you—"

"Have you visited the Burgundy estate lately, Miss Dorothy? I believe Mr. Burgundy invited your father for a friendly game of blackjack last month. Perhaps you tagged along?"

"I don't recall," Dot sneered.

The girl watched in confusion as the atmosphere changed.

"Oh!" Fleur covered her gasp with both hands. "How thoughtless of me. Mr. Allen couldn't have possibly visited when he was in prison for—"

"Stop right there!" Dot hissed, and though her voice was soft, the warning was sharp. However, the damage was done, and the room exploded with gasps of shock.

Even the girl couldn't hide her surprise at Fleur's abrupt change in behaviour, then at the company.

"When did your father go to jail, Dorothy? Why am I just hearing about this?"

Fleur quietly excused herself during the chaos.

"It was a misunderstanding," Dot explained, swiftly slipping into a calm disposition. "The matter resolved itself in a day." She turned her sharp eyes toward the girl, who straightened at the attention. Dot sighed, letting her shoulders droop. "Your mother was a great help to mine. How sad she couldn't be here today."

The room fell silent. The girl wasn't aware their mothers knew each other. What excuse was she supposed to give? She decided to go for the truth. "Yes, it is," she agreed with a sad smile.

Dot narrowed her eyes. She seemed displeased. "You're a strong person. I would burst into tears if I were in your position, God forbid."

"Yes, well, what can we do? Life goes on." The ladies began to chat among themselves as the previous tension slowly dissipated.

Dot's concealed scoff did not miss the girl's ears. "How optimistic of you."

The girl jumped at the lull in conversation after a moment. "I think I should change," she announced, stretching her legs. "And maybe take a shower." No one seemed to pay her any attention. "Right. I guess I'll be going then."

The girl turned to leave, but Dot stopped her with her arm. "Before you go, I just wanted to tell you how nice it is to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too." It wasn't. It really wasn't, but the girl could help but be polite.

"We'll be seeing a lot of each other now," Dot said in a honeyed voice. "I can't wait for you to be part of the family."

Part of the family? What? "I'm sorry, but how do you know James?"

Dot put a hand over her chest. "How do I know him? You mean he hasn't told you about me?"

"No, he hasn't." The girl swallowed nervously. "Are you his sister?"

Dot threw her head back and laughed. "Am I his—Oh! I'm going to have a word with him after this. I can't believe he hasn't told you."

The girl couldn't help but feel like the butt end of a joke, with no choice but to play along. "Hasn't told me what?"

Dot stepped towards the girl and bit her lip as she leaned forward. "Me and James... well, let's just say we're very good friends."

"Oh." Dot's underlying meaning was clear.

What else could she say? Everyone held an advantage over her. They grew up surrounded by the mafia while she left. They knew all the particular goings-on of the organization, and she didn't. And now this gorgeous blonde was passive-aggressively staking some type of claim over James Barnes. Who she affectionately called Bucky.

"Okay."

Dot curled her lips into a smile as if to say, "checkmate," and took the girl's hand in a tight grip. "Again, welcome to the family, dear. You have no idea how excited I am."

It started slowly, a tingle in her spine, crawling up her shoulders and towards her neck. The feeling of someone watching her. She surveyed her surroundings, once, then twice, then seemingly happy with the absence of another soul, turned back towards the pool.

It had taken just one look at the girl's tear-ridden face for Fleur to deduce what was wrong.

"They're jealous." Fleur was wearing a neat braid. Her roots were a reddish blonde.

"Jealous?" the girl had scoffed, forgetting about her friend's unusual hair colour.

"Your husband is quite popular, especially among the younger ladies."

"He's not my husband," she snapped in frustration.

"Apologies." Though Fleur did not sound apologetic at all. "They're not happy you're marrying him."

"Least of all me! How am I supposed to convince everyone of this marriage, Fleur? I know nothing about him. I don't even know what he looks like!"

"Mr. Burgundy didn't let you two meet?"

"James Barnes is a busy man. He has an entire city to run." The girl repeated what her father told her, then aggressively shook her head. "I refused a picture. I don't think I could have survived the week if my nightmares had a face."

"All that from a single photograph? I hear he's a handsome man."

"The eyes are the windows to the soul, aren't they? After my brother died, my father changed and became cruel. His eyes used to be full of life, but they turned dull." The girl looked down at the floor, remembering how strict and uncaring her father became after losing his child.

Fleur thought for a moment. "I know you don't feel it, chérie, but you hold a lot of power."

The girl wanted to cry. "I don't feel powerful." She felt weak and helpless.

Fleur grabbed her hand. "Behind every successful man is a woman. Remember this. I helped my husband expand his practice. Without me, he never would've gotten to where he is."

The girl couldn't help the pity she felt. "And yet he still—"

"Yes, I got too comfortable. Never let your guard down, or the next thing you know—"

God, was that what would happen to her? Would she be swept away under all the lies and betrayals that seemed to follow the mafia everywhere?

Fleur seemed to be able to read the girl's mind. "I will not let that happen to you!" she promised passionately. "You are lucky the wedding is so public. Your husband will not risk losing you." She paused. "Or hurting you."

The girl deeply exhaled. The severity of her situation was voiced for the first time, leaving a weight on her shoulders.

"How can I help?" Fleur asked softly.

"I want to swim." The girl didn't bother correcting herself. "Alone."

It hadn't taken Fleur long to orchestrate the entire thing. A thinly veiled threat to the guards posted outside—something along the lines of castration—and the girl found herself in an empty natatorium.

The girl didn't know how to swim, though she didn't need to. She only needed to submerge herself long enough to forget what she had to do in a few hours.

Vow her life away to a monster. James Barnes.

She took the steps one at a time, becoming comfortable as the cool water slowly obscured her bikini-clad body. The pool was not too deep where she stood, only reaching her elbows, so she walked farther until it reached her chin.

The girl closed her eyes. A deep breath in, out, and another in before she bent her legs and lowered her body.

The effect was immediate. The world quieted down to silence, took all the girl's worries and anxieties, all past, present, and future troubles and dispersed them across the water's surface to be collected once she emerged.

The girl didn't want them back. She didn't want to live in constant fear, always wondering when the next shoe would drop. If she straightened her knees and took her head out of the water to breathe, she would need to wear her wedding dress, walk down the aisle, and marry a monster. However, if she stayed, with her legs bent and floating aimlessly—with her breath stuck in her lungs and her body pliant in the water, she would be free of all her troubles.

Her eyes slowly fluttered open. She saw the ceiling above her through a distorted lens, her hands and legs floating aimlessly around her. Air bubbles left her nose and breached the surface, which seemed to move farther and farther away as time passed. Her hair created a beautiful halo around her head, and she sighed, expelling the last of air from her lungs.

As she let herself float away, deeper and deeper into the calm abyss, she thought, with sudden clarity, that she would love to spend the rest of her days here. No thoughts or feelings, only a calm that she could not reach any other way. A place where she was everything and nothing, all at the same time.

The girl shut her eyes, letting the comforting pressure of water surround her from all sides. Yes, she would love to spend the rest of her days here.

The effect was immediate. The world boomed with noise, took all the girl's worries and anxieties, all past, present, and future troubles and accumulated them across the water, which was then promptly collected the second she emerged.

The girl gasped, sputtered, and choked. It felt as if the arm around her abdomen had picked her up and slammed her onto concrete. The loss made her cry. She sobbed as she attempted to loosen the arms around her, to dive back into the serene calmness she was just feeling mere moments ago.

"No!" she cried out. "Let me go!"

The arm tightened painfully. "What the hell?"

The girl froze. She recognized that voice. She turned so abruptly her hair whipped the man across his face, making him flinch.

"Peter?"

"You were gonna drown!" Peter berated her. "Do you want to die?" He wore a dress shirt and dark grey slacks, the fanciest the girl had seen him in.

"No. I don't want to die. I just..." The girl moved a strand of wet hair from his eyes. "What are you doing here?"

Peter ignored her question and carried her out of the pool, setting her carefully on a lounge chair nearby. "What the fuck were you thinking?" he asked forcefully.

The girl suddenly felt very exposed to the cool air. She grabbed a nearby towel to cover her nakedness. "I wasn't," she replied. "I wasn't thinking."

"That doesn't sound like you," he observed, sitting beside her.

"Why are you here?" she asked once more.

Peter sighed and ran his hands over his face, wiping the excess water. He would have to change his clothes and find new shoes. The leather was sure to be damaged beyond repair.

"I heard some guys in the lobby talking about how the bride was taking a swim. I came in to say hi, and almost witnessed you kill yourself."

The girl wasn't trying to kill herself, though she decided not to correct him. "What are you doing in New York?" she clarified. "In this hotel?"

Peter scoffed, leaning forward to grab his dry suit jacket. "Did you hit your stupid head while you were down there?" He shoved a thick envelope toward her. "You invited me."

In her hands was a wedding invite. Gold and pink lines on matte black card stock. "The Barnes and Burgundy family cordially invite you to witness the holy matrimony of James Buchanan Barnes and—" In her hands was her wedding invite.

Dread settled low in the girl's stomach. The last she'd seen Peter, Campus security was escorting him out of the DKE party. That was also the last time she saw Dove. The girl wanted to ask about her friend. Was she okay? Was she eating well? How upset was she when the girl left without a goodbye?

"You need to leave," she declared.

"Oh, uh, okay." Peter rose to grab his discarded jacket and the wedding invite. "I'm in room 315. I'll see you at the church, yeah?"

"No. You need to leave the city." The girl rose to her feet as panic began to take over. "Now!" she exploded when he didn't move fast enough for her liking.

"Jesus!" Peter did not let the girl push him toward the exit. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her. "What are you talking about?"

She was hysterical, trying her best to keep her tears at bay, a complete one-eighty compared to a moment ago. "It's dangerous for you to be here. Catch the first flight back to Vancouver and go home!"

But Peter wouldn't listen. He wrapped the slipping towel tighter around the girl's shoulders and forced her to look at him. "Is this those wedding jitters I've heard about? because you're not making any sense. My life isn't in danger."

His calm and placating voice annoyed her. As always, Peter thought he knew better when he didn't. Her father obviously invited him here as a power move to show her his control over her life. One wrong move and Peter would suffer the consequences, along with Dove.

She pushed his hand away and grabbed his wet shirt. "You don't understand. You need to go to Dove. How was she when you left her? Is she hurt?"

Peter frowned. "Dove's alright. She misses you 'cause you left out of nowhere, but she's actually he—Wait. Why would she be hurt?"

The girl let out the breath she had been holding. "So, she's fine?"

Peter grabbed her wrists to loosen her hold on him, which was becoming tighter. "Yeah, What the hell? What aren't you telling me, Kitty? Why would Dove be hurt?"

The girl's face contorted in sorrow. She contemplated coming clean to her friend, telling him everything that had transpired since that fateful night in Vancouver. "Peter," she sighed, slowly losing her resolve. Perhaps he would listen if he knew what was at stake. "My father is—"

"I must say," a loud voice interrupted the two, "when my men told me my daughter went for a swim, I was surprised. Especially considering I didn't know you could swim."

Both of them froze. Peter tensed his shoulders and sighed deeply, letting his eyes close. "Kitty."

"Run," she whispered pleadingly. "There's still time."

"I'm sorry." Guilt swirled in Peter's eyes when opened them. He looked dejected.

The girl snatched her wrists from his hold. "It's okay. Just let me do the talking."

Peter shook his head. "Not about that." And he took a step toward her father.

What? she wanted to ask, but the question answered itself.

"Thank you for keeping an eye on her, Pietro. She clearly can't be left alone." Danial let his gaze wander all over Peter's wet clothes.

"Pietro?" the girl found herself wondering aloud.

Her father looked confused for a moment before bursting into laughter. He wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulder as if they were friends. "I forgot. You might know him as Peter, your schoolmate."

The girl turned to her friend, waiting for him to deny it.

Peter bowed his head, unwilling to meet her gaze. "Pietro Maximoff, Miss. At your service."

"No," the girl denied. "There must be some misunderstanding."

"There isn't," Peter—no, Pietro answered. "It's nice to meet you formally."

Her father seemed pleased. "Good job, Pietro. You can go. I'll call you if I need anything."

Pietro left without sparing her a glance.

It was like the entire world slowed. Voices muted, and a ringing overtook all her senses.

"You best be on your way," her father said.

"Why?"

He felt far away when he spoke. "You have a wedding to attend. That's why."

He misunderstood. "Why him?"

In the past week, the girl's world had flipped so many times she couldn't tell up from down anymore. Fear and anxiety were her best friend during this troubling time, and she thought nothing could surprise her. She was wrong.

She remembered meeting Peter—Pietro—for the first time. He was adamant about being her friend, waiting outside her classes with a coffee one day and iced tea another. The girl always figured he was friendly because she was Dove's best friend. She never suspected any foul play.

A horrible thought struck her. How would Dove react once she knew the man she loved deceived her? Another thought. Did she already know? A double deception was sure to kill the girl.

Did the girl's father control everything in her life? Had he known this entire time what she was doing? He must have. Pietro would have told him everything. He would have indulged her father with her most intimate thoughts and feelings. That betrayal somehow felt much worse than Pietro lying about who he was.

That is when the numbness started. The girl was tired. Tired of feeling, hoping for a reprieve, and constantly being let down. Tired of fearing for her friend's life.

When her father gestured for two of his men to grab the girl, she did not react or fight back. She only tightened the small towel around her shoulders. They dragged her out with ease, following her father, stopping when he stopped, moving when he moved.

When she passed the concierge, the staff averted their eyes, unwilling to even risk looking in her direction. Still, the girl felt a pair of eyes follow her. She turned her head only to find a man staring at her.

There was a prominent frown on his face as he ran his gaze over her exposed legs and up her torso. While the girl usually felt repulsed while being leered at by random men, the stranger's eyes did not make her uncomfortable. Something about him felt oddly familiar. He was beautiful, with soft hair cut short on the sides, and was wearing a dress shirt with slacks, similar to Pietro's. His eyes were a startling azure.

Try as she might, the girl couldn't shake the feeling that she had seen the man before. Despite the distance between them, she noticed a muscle in his jaw tick in annoyance upon seeing her face.

He parted his pink lips then, to say something, though she didn't hear what. Her father frustratedly rubbed his eyes and replied to the man, walking over to greet him. The two shook hands, and Danial gestured for the guards to take her away.

The girl stayed passive the entire time, only pulling the towel over her chest to try and erase the stranger's stare from her body. They dragged her across the lobby and towards the elevators. There was no stopping it now. A wedding awaited her.

Her bridesmaids' chatter quieted to a dull throb, deadening completely the longer the girl ignored them. They were snacking on fruit and sipping champagne while a photographer captured the exaggerated moment. Smiles too big and poses too disingenuous.

In comparison, the girl sat blank-faced. No smile. No disingenuous pose. No falsities or pretenses. One couldn't tell her dress was a few sizes too small, preventing her from breathing. Or that underneath the layers of concealer, her eyes were dark enough to be mistaken for bruises, and her elaborately made hair housed the beginning of what was turning out to be a massive headache.

Yes, it was odd that the bride-to-be was not trembling with excitement, but that could be a consequence of nerves. Her lack of response, however, was starting to become concerning.

"What do you think?" the hairdresser asked for the third time. He finished the final touches. A brooch here, a sprinkle of glitter there.

The girl barely glanced at her reflection. "It's nice," she murmured, then tuned out the rest of the conversation.

A young woman refreshed the colour on her lips with a small brush before blotting it with a tissue. "I've never had such an obedient bride before," she laughed. "You're as still as a mannequin."

The girl gave no reaction. She briefly heard the pair acknowledge her inattentiveness, speculating in hushed whispers why she wasn't happier. She felt disinclined to indulge them.

She was tired.

She didn't know when, but the room cleared out, and still, she was sitting in front of the vanity, staring at a fixed spot in the mirror.

From her peripheral, the girl saw her father enter behind her. Danial was dressed in his most expensive suit and held a folder in his right hand, which he placed on the vanity. Still, she sat unmoving.

"Everyone is already on their way to the church," he told her. "I sent Fleur with your bridesmaids." He paused, waiting for his daughter to say something, but she didn't. Danial cleared his throat. "I wanted to give you your wedding present right now. I know there's time set apart for later, but I thought you'd appreciate doing this privately."

At this, the girl did react. She found her father's eyes in the mirror and looked down at the folder in question.

"Open it," Danial urged. And so she did.

The girl took in the contents of the folder passively, emotionlessly. I, Danial Burgundy, being of sound mind and body, do hereby declare the following—

"I suppose congratulations are in order." Danial placed a hand on his daughter's shoulder. "You will become the new and sole owner of the Burgundy estate once the marriage is finalized."

Now, this did get a reaction from the girl. She shot up from her seat, making Danial's hand fall to his side. "You're trying to buy my silence? You think this will erase what you're making me do?" The girl made her way to the door, holding the will in a white-knuckled grip. She couldn't sit there and be reminded of how badly she lost.

"I told you before," Danial's voice reverberated through the room, "and I'll tell you again. This will all make sense soon, then you'll thank me. There's a reason I'm doing this. A good reason."

The girl looked at her father, at his determined face and stiff posture. No, she decided, there can be no justifiable reason for what he is doing. Nothing she could ever understand or forgive.

"We're late, Father," the girl said; and with that, she turned around and left. There was a wedding to attend.

Note: Thoughts? How are we feeling so far?

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August 2023 Stucky Fics

Completed

The Irony of Fate (Rated: E, Words: 10K) by janedarling

Summary: Bucky had been curled up at one end of the couch when Steve got home on Tuesday, buried up to his collarbone in a purple flannel quilt Clint had recommended as "the coziest shit ever, you have to get one of these" and so absorbed by The Obelisk Gate that he barely said hi. Steve had simultaneously wanted to crawl under the quilt to suck his cock and bring him a cup of tea. He'd landed on tea, but now he's regretting it. Bucky had been so warm and soft, and Steve could have slid up under the quilt, spread his legs and settled down in between them. Maybe Bucky even would have kept reading a bit, and Steve would have had to work at it a little to distract him, do his best to get Bucky's attention with just his hands and his mouth — “Have you tried talking to him, or are you just thinking about sex all the time?" Sam asks.

it was the summer of '69 (Rated: E, Words: 6K) by controlofwhatido / @controlofwhatido & art by DeamonSlayer576 / @angelicalslayer

Summary: It's 1969 Woodstock. Bucky's there to get high, listen to some music, and get his dick wet.

you're gonna have it your way or nothing at all (Rated: T, Words: 15K) by biblionerd07 / @biblionerd07

Summary: Steve and Bucky aren't really much of a Steve and Bucky anymore these days. Steve's sure it's because Bucky doesn't see himself as the same guy who used to love Steve. In a desperate attempt to prove him wrong, Steve begs Bucky to go on a road trip together, the way they used to dream about, and does his best to remind Bucky of who he is.

I just met you (and this is crazy) (Rated: E, Words: 41K) by littlesystems / @littlesystems

Summary: After Steve gets outed by a grainy cell phone picture, it takes the media less than 24 hours to discover Captain America’s secret relationship with James Barnes: classical musician, teen heartthrob, and son of a former president. The only problem? Steve has never met James Barnes in his life.

That Boy Is a Problem (Rated: E, Words: 10K) by 2bestfriends & art by @arsartisf

Summary: In which a twinky little goth punk named Bucky puts a leash around Steve's dick and he's really into it. (The leash is a metaphor. For now.)

Smile for the Camera (series) by lordeofstucky

Smile for the Camera (Rated: E, Words: 172K) Summary: In the pages of every high school yearbook, there is a boy that everyone thinks they know. In the case of Shield High School, that boy is James Buchanan Barnes, and sometimes, he doesn't even know himself. No one does. No one apart from a certain blond haired, blue eyed boy that makes Bucky's heart stutter every time they lock gazes. The boy whose name just happens to be Steve Rogers. High School AU Attention: Bear-Backing Boyfriends Get Mauled While Camping (Or At Least That's What the Headlines Would Read in Bucky's Mind) (Rated: E, Words: 10K) Summary: "I need to bounce on it.” Steve’s brain goes a little haywire at the comment but before he can actually process what Bucky’s referring to, or what his mind envisions, his boyfriend plops down on the air mattress in front of them. “And I think you should join me,” Bucky adds. Looking down at Bucky, Steve has to swallow. He wastes no time and sends a quick glance around the store's aisle and finds that it's still empty. Lucky them. Gently, Steve sinks his knees down into the mattress and immediately Bucky’s legs open up to let him settle in. The brunet hums and his hands trail down Steve’s back,. “Mmm, thought so.” The smile on Bucky’s face is breathtaking and instantly Steve’s kissing him senseless. ***These fics are complete but the series is not.***

The Only Familiar Thing (Rated: E, Words: 39K) by brideofquiet

Summary: Steve takes a breath, steels himself, and asks, “Where are we going, Buck?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You’re the one driving, Steve.” And before Steve can protest, Bucky gives him that broad, toothy grin again. The worry pitted in his stomach ebbs, and he decides—what the hell? Why not? Steve pulls his helmet on and swings a leg over the bike. Bucky settles in behind him, and he cranks the engine to life.

Sharper Knives (Rated: M, Words: 3K) by mind_empty_heart_full / @mind-empty-heart-full

Summary: A Friendly Competition with Deadly Consequences When the New York Times Best Sellers book by acclaimed author Yelena Belova broke all major sales records, it seemed inevitable that the story of two rival assassins on the run would be adapted into a film. Now we have an exclusive interview and photoshoots with Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes for all the inside scoop. ----------------- Or: Steve and Bucky have been best friends since childhood and are seasoned actors. After many years, they finally got to make a movie together. Much thirsting ensues.

To Be Vulnerable Is Needed Most Of All (Rated: M, Words: 118K) by perfect_plan

Summary: Steve is a shy comic book artist and meets his new neighbour, Bucky Barnes. In which there are awkward longings, meddling best friends, comic conventions, heartache, lemons, video games, dorkiness, dancing and two cute boys.

Judged By the Cover (Rated: E, Words: 32K) by EmmaLostInWonderland / @emmalostinwonderland & LouiKazooie / @louikazooie

Summary: Bucky frowns deeply, clicking open the NYT best sellers list. #2. He’s number two. His new book, which he poured heart and soul, blood, sweat, and so many tears into, is number two. On the NYT best seller’s list. He rolls over and closes his eyes, hoping it was all just a bad dream and that he’ll wake up soon… Because the name on top of the New York Times Best Sellers List in the romance genre seemed to be none other than Steven G Rogers. // Bucky Barnes, award-winning romance novelist, is dismayed to learn that his publisher is sending him on a book tour with Steve Rogers, a fantasy author who recently topped the NY Times Bestseller list for his first and only romance novel and Bucky’s personal authorial adversary. As they’re sent off to spend several months touring 50 US cities together, they’ll attempt to overcome their differences and leave the past behind them… maybe they’ll even find love. Bucky POV and fanart by LouiKazooie, Steve POV by EmmaLostInWonderland

WIP

Lost Vocabularies that Might Express (The Memory of These Broken Impressions) (Rated: E, Current Words: 44K) by dorian_burberrycanary / @burberrycanary

Summary: The worst of times, like the best, are always passing away. How’s that for some consolation on the road? A post-The Falcon and The Winter Soldier Stucky fix-it as part of the all-American road trip, detours included. ***Part of the series A Man Takes His Sadness Down to the River (The Consolation of Philosophy): The Same River, Twice (The Man Is Still Left with His Hands) (Rated: G, words: 4K), Still Left with the River (The Paradox of Motion) (Rated: G, Words: 14K), &  Not Language by a Map (The Grammar of Sensation) (Rated: E, Words: 20K)***

Treading Water (Rated: M, Current Words: 193K) by sparkagrace / @sparkagrace & art by Dyslexic_Fetus (Reagy_Jay) / @reagy-jay

Summary: Olympic swimmer Bucky Barnes always believed that when the time came to retire, he would walk away with his medals and world records firmly in the history books and never look back. He never thought the water would leave him first. ***Part of the series Lane Lines: Lane Lines (Rated: M, Words: 132K), Lumière (Rated: M, Words: 5K), & New Traditions (Rated: M, Words: 6K)***

a league of our own (Rated: E, Current Words: 30K) by burning_brighter / @burning-brighter

Summary: Steve’s sixteen-year-old son’s one and only dream is to play in the Major League. He thinks he has a shot when the team get a new coach, retired MLB legend and Steve’s high school crush, Bucky Barnes. Steve hasn’t thought of the man in many years, but seeing him brings back many memories that push Steve to reach out to an old friend and maybe make new ones on the way. What happens when Steve gets to know Bucky properly? What happens when they open up about their darkest secrets and deepest fears? There’s really only one thing that can happen.

#Stucky #Steve and Bucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #fanfic #XOXOBUCKYBARNES' Stucky Fic Reading List #august reading list

[lives-in-midgard]

Hey guys!

I need your help for my musician AU series! I'm searching for a band name but can't figure one out. It's the band from Steve, Bucky, Sam and Clint. I would be very happy if someone of you has an idea. Comment or reblogg to let me know!

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #sam wilson #sam wilson x reader #clint barton #clint barton x reader #hawkeye #winter soldier #captain america #marvel #mcu #marvel musician au #musician au

[mayexiled]

“Every step directed with purpose, Unwearied in your desire to seek, The others seeking virtue to follow will track the living imprint of your feet”

#erra #erra band #jt cavey #jesse cash #conor hesse #alex ballew #sean price #clint tustin #musician fanart #metalcore #lyric art #music series #metal music #exiledarts #may's arts

[fashionbooksmilano]

MOØDe

Anton Corbijn

With an essay by Karen Van Godtsenhoven

Hannibal Books, 240 pages, Hardcover, 26,4x31,4cm, Bilingual edition English-Dutch, ISBN 978 94 6388 737 3

euro 65,00

email if you want to buy [email protected]

Iconic portraits and fashion imagery of leading international photographer and filmmaker Anton Corbijn

“I photograph mostly personalities, but fashion is more and more part of it. We all make a decision in the morning about what to wear, even if it is just a hat or a black T-shirt. Fashion is not always spelled out in capital letters.”

— Anton Corbijn

MOØDe, by leading international photographer and filmmaker Anton Corbijn, presents images from his extensive oeuvre in which he explores the crossover – in the broadest sense of the word – between photography and the world of fashion.

Corbijn’s portraits of famous figures including Alexander McQueen, Tom Waits, Kate Moss, Björk and Clint Eastwood have achieved iconic status. As visual director for Depeche Mode and through his decades-long collaboration with U2 and other musicians, he has left an indelible stamp on how we look at a crucial aspect of contemporary culture. With MOØDe, Anton Corbijn shows that fashion is everywhere.

This publication features more than 150 images and collaborations from Corbijn’s rich body of work, many of them never seen before.

With an essay by Karen Van Godtsenhoven, associate curator of The Costume Institute of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

Publication accompanying the MOØDe exhibition atCultuurcentrum Scharpoord, Knokke-Heist, Belgium, running from 26 September to 10 January 2021.

19/03/24

#Anton Corbijn #photography books #MOØDe #photographyexhibition2021 #Clint Eastwood #Bjork #Tom Waits #Kate Moss #Alexander McQueen #photography books #fashionbooksmilano

[artaxlivs]

WIP Wednesday - I was tagged by @eriquin and @loki-is-my-kink-awakening

I have this creepy story that's been posted as only 2 of 4 chapters for months while I was busy. It's called There's Something Wrong With Steve and it's sort of disjointed and unreliable narrator-ish because Eddie's very out of it...anyway. I'm currently finishing it. This is what I wrote on it yesterday:

One of Steve’s hands finds it’s way around Eddie’s waist and dips under the hem of his shirt, swiping a warm thumb across the skin there. Eddie shivers, tries not to think about the possibly of a monster holding him, pressing all of their hard angles together, kissing along the hinge of his jaw. That Eddie might be running his hands up a monster’s chest, letting his mouth fall open in invitation to something he should be keeping out. But he does. He does think about it. And his heart pounds inside his ribcage and in his mind he sees fangs and wounds that never seem to heal, hands that touch him in the dark. Then he buries it, buries it beneath the hope. The hope that someone braver than he, stronger than he, will be here tonight to fight whatever it is that Steve is. That someone will save Eddie from the boy who saved him.

So yeah...that's what I'm working on. But I also need to get these others out finally so idk, send me an ask and I'll write something new in whichever one you choose, just for you!

Even Flowers Have There Dangers Series (No one is alone) - I'm working on Max's Letter (Stanger Things)

Hot for Teacher (Steddie musician/teacher thing)

Incubus Eddie (Steddie)

Let the Music Play (part three) (Steddie)

Winterhawk Parents (Clint/Bucky)

Clint Enchanted (Clint/Bucky)

I've been epically failing at all game posting and WIP posting but all of these people are amazing so no pressure tags: @fuctacles @steventhusiast @penny00dreadful @lorifragolina @vampeddie @lady-lostmind @vecnuthy

#I also wrote a sterek I haven't posted yet ...I don't know what happened.

[lokisprettygirl]

The Night Screams at The Slumber Island (Loki x Female Reader) (Horror Romance) (Dark) (Au) (18+)

Read Chapter 7 here // Series Masterlist

Chapter 8

Summary : If your neighbour doesn't really exist for the world then who's the man you have come to know of? What is he?

Warning: discussion of rape, sexual abuse, gaslighting, cheating, discussion of mental illness, therapy please read carefully. If something triggers you please don't read it. Take a shot everytime the word hallucination comes across 😂

Next morning you woke up and felt good for a change, you knew in your heart that the conversation had changed your equation with him. The way he hugged you and comforted you was surreal, you wanted to feel him again, you wanted to touch him and hold him again. He felt so safe and a part of you knew he didn't want to hurt you. You opened the main door and found the grocery bags he had left for you so you picked it up and kept it inside , you wanted to thank him for last night but you figured you'd do it after work.

You just didn't know that you won't find him again.

How could it be possible? He was there, you saw him, you talked to him and you touched him. How could you hallucinate all that?

"You said his house was right here?" Clint asked you, he was standing on the spot where your neighbor used to sit on his porch and read. You sat next to him that day then how could he not be real?

"Yes..I..I am not lying I just..I don't know" your eyes teared up and lips trembled as you spoke. He was there last night, you told him everything about yourself and he was there to comfort you.

"There hasn't been any house built here ever as per our knowledge and we have lived here all our lives"

Phil said and you suddenly realized that you were surrounded by a group of men you didn't trust at all. You remembered your realtor Tony telling you there wasn't any other property in one mile distance so he wasn't lying it seems.

"But I have been eating and he brought me food and he.."

"Who did that?" Steve asked you and you placed your hands over your temples

"Loki ..his name is Loki..I saw him I swear to god I saw him everyday since I came here" they all sighed in unison and you noticed Phil saw something behind you and they quickly left after that. Did they see Minola? Did she even exist or you made that up too? You went inside and called Stephen, you could tell that he was worried about the situation

"Y/n, calm down and tell me the first moment you saw this person Loki" he asked you and you wiped your tears before you spoke,

"The first day when I got here he helped me take my bags inside the house"

"Did he tell you anything about himself?"

"He said he was a musician, and that he wanted to explore life that's why he was here" you sobbed and he asked you to calm down again.

"Anything else that stood out?"

You told him everything you noticed about him, the wifebeater, the sandalwood fragrance, him smoking, how he looked, you told him that you saw him in the market and the fest as well.

"Did you see him talking to anyone there?"

"I uhh..I --" you tried to remember and you realized that you haven't seen him talking to anyone even once. It was as if they couldn't even see him.

"Y/n I need you to listen to me. We pass by several different faces everyday and our conscious mind can't retain every information but our subconscious mind does, that's why we see people in our dreams that we have never met before..have you been taking your medicine as per the prescription? " you didn't want to lie to him so you told him the truth.

"I just..just for two nights here I took extra sleeping pills but that was it"

"I advised you to not do that. You probably saw this person at some point in your life, the sandalwood essence was engraved in your mind because of your mother and the cigarette smoking as well, am I wrong?"

"Nooo"

"And his name was Loki? The god your mother worshipped?" He asked you and you answered in yes. He was trying to tell you that you had built him up the way you wanted in your head. You felt crazy and out of your mind. He told you to calm down and see him next month, he also asked you to get proper sleep as if that would make everything better. You hung up soon after as you couldn't take this anymore. What even was happening?

"How could I hallucinate you loki. .you were here..you were right here" you sobbed as you sat down on the couch, were you really losing your mind? Were they all right about you? Were you sick and making things up from the beginning? Since the accident?

You opened the door and looked at the empty space where his home should have been, you walked towards the vacant spot and your knees collapsed because you felt so scared out of your mind and so lonely. Since you met him, in just a matter of few days you had started to feel so close to him and he felt safe, he felt like a friend. Stephen told you that it was your need to build a pure connection like that again in your life that was manifesting into this delusion.

But you had hugged him and held his hand and you felt his touch. He felt real, he felt human.

"Ohhh ohhh God Lokii please come back..I can't ..I can't" you laid down on the ground as you couldn't stop sobbing and it was getting harder to breathe with every second. You didn't even remember passing out there but when you opened your eyes you found yourself in your bed again. How did you get here? Why didn't you remember anything?

You quickly got out of the bed to check the grocery bags and you felt so scared that you won't find them there but to your surprise you did find them. It had the regular fruits and vegetables that he had gotten for you in the past week.

"I am not crazy..I am not crazy..I can't be crazy" you mumbled to yourself and walked towards the door, you shoved the curtain aside and there it was.

His house all lit up like it always used to be.

You gasped as you processed the information, it wasn't there when they came to check on him, he wasn't there when you broke down and passed out on the ground then how were you seeing it again? You called Stephen again but his number was unreachable. You pinched yourself to confirm whether you were still asleep or not.

Then you got up and opened the main door to confront him, but you took a step back as he did the same, your eyes met with him and he was in his usual attire. You knew this was not in your head, because if it was then you really needed more help than just therapy.

"I can explain darling" he mumbled softly and hearing his voice made you sob again, he walked towards you but you closed the door immediately and locked it. You heard him knocking but you placed your hands on your ears. What if you're hallucinating? You couldn't afford to lose him again. Even if he wasn't real, he was real for you.

"They tell me you don't exist..that I made you up..that you..you are not real" you sobbed with every word you spoke and that broke his heart, he knew this day would come and he wanted to tell you the truth but he knew that won't help you.

"I am here darling, you have seen me and you have touched me, I'm real as long as you believe in me and you believed in me even when you thought you didn't"

You opened the door and you saw him standing there, his eyes were teary. How could you hallucinate someone caring for you? Were you really that desperate?

"This morning I didn't see you, they didn't either, the house was gone, you didnt exist" you mumbled as you crossed your arms but he grabbed your hand and his touch made you gasp, he placed your hand on his chest, right where his heart should be and you felt it beating so fast in there.

"You feel me don't you?" He asked you and pulled you closer to him, you could smell his cologne and you could feel his warmth surrounding you again.

"But they…they said that you're not real" you sounded like a broken record and seemed like an innocent child but you couldn't help it, you were at the edge of losing your complete sanity.

"I am here..look at me, look me in the eyes love, you have me, you have me little one..you have me I promise, I told you I'd never lie to you" And he didn't. He just hid the part of the truth.

"You exist?" Your lips trembled as you spoke and he brushed his thumb over them to stop them from twitching.

"I exist for you..yes" He cupped your cheeks as he whispered softly so you grabbed the collar of his shirt and dragged him inside, pressing him against the door you got on your tiptoes and he wasn't ready for you to kiss him like that, the moment he felt your lips on his he moaned, he wanted to touch you, caress your back but he had to be careful, he didn't want to startle you or make you panic again.

You cupped his cheeks as the kiss heated up, he kept his hands to himself as you kissed him the way you wanted to kiss him.

When you realized what you were doing you quickly pulled away and took two steps backwards. He looked at you curiously, his lips were moist and plump, his breathing went erratic and his cheeks seemed rosy pink.

"I am sorry" you mumbled as your eyes teared up, the awful images of him on top of you flashed through your head, the moment you had opened your eyes and found him forcing himself on you, you knew your life would never be same again. You knew sexual and physical intimacy would never feel the way it used to before. You knew you'd never allow a man to dominate you or be on top of you in such close proximity..

You snapped out of your thoughts as you realized that you had bigger problems to worry about, the major being the possibility that the object of your fascination didn't even exist in reality, that he might just have been a figment of your imagination.

"Are you a ghost?" You asked him and he smiled as he looked down then he looked at you again.

"I don't think a ghost can be kissed with such a burning passion, they're dead darling, I am not" he mumbled and you hummed in response, trying to make sense of his words "You don't believe in Ghosts, Angels and Gods right?" He asked you and you looked at him confused, "Maybe I will change your perception"

"So you're an angel?" You chuckled but it wasn't a chuckle of amusement but more of frustration. What was your life now?

"Nooooo..bless the norns..they are infuriating" he chuckled again and you tilted your head but what he said next did make you question your existence and you couldn't help but wonder if you were even alive because if you were and all of this was real then you were in to hear the shocking truth about the reality of the world.

"I am Loki..the god your mother worshiped all her life, that's why I'm here..I'm here for you. She prayed to me and I answered her prayers"

👀👀👀💀💀❤️❤️💀💀👀👀👀

Note : Sometimes truth is simpler and hiding in the plain sight.

Taglist @mcufan72    @stupidthoughtsinwriting    @fraoid3    @wheredafandomat    @michelleleewise    @daddylokisqueen    @123forgottherest    @usagishira    @elegantcheesecakecrown    @sashas-recs    @lukira1337    @vickie5446    @spageddyhoes    @witchypandamonium    @javagirl328    @slpnbty2001 @mochi661 @lovingchoices14    @annoyingsweetsstranger    @army24--7     @el-zef    @asgardianprincess1050    @loz-3 @whylokiissocute @holotacopeely    @thomase1    @daggers-and-mischief    @constablewafflebottom    @marvel-love24  @crimson25    @laliceee

#loki #loki x female reader #loki x reader horror romance #loki x reader fluff #loki x reader #loki x reader angst #loki x reader insert #loki x reader fic #loki x you #loki horror romance #loki horror au #loki alternate universe #dark themes